Somebody stole my mojo.
I know someone must have stolen it, because last night I had the opportunity to have red hot sex with a red hot man thing. And I passed.
The guy: Former F-buddy. 20s. Surfer. Hot. Body. Rockin’. OMG. I mean, OMG.
The sitch: Hooking up again after two years. No strings attached.
The problem: Rough week. Possibly getting sick. Grouchy. Exhausted.
I know… LAME.
The strange thing is, I had enough oomph to go to the gym and work out. But it wasn’t the physical energy that was the problem – I’m sure I could have gathered the strength to do a little horizontal mambo for an hour or so. It was the mental energy I couldn’t muster.
If it were really just sex – he appeared, pleasured me, then disappeared – I could’ve managed. But it was all the preamble I wasn’t up for. This is what I’m talking about:
The Prep Time
I hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before and I went to work looking a hot mess. I knew I’d have to come home and transform myself into something somebody might want to penetrate.
I’d have to shower, shave at least three body parts, wash my hair, style my hair and redo my makeup at minimum.
Then I’d have to tidy up (if he came to me) or drive through LA traffic (if I went to him).
Last night, I just wasn’t up for the challenge.
The Small Talk
We hadn’t seen each other in two years so there would have to be a bit of obligatory chitchat. We’d both know it was just bullshit niceties, but we’d still do it.
We’d probably also have a drink or two, because let’s face it, we don’t really know each other that well and would need to loosen up. This would take roughly 20-30 minutes, but it sounded like an eternity.
I know, I know. All the men out there are thinking, Dumb girl! Men don’t give a rat’s ass about that stuff. You should’ve just gone straight to the sex!
But I knew I couldn’t do it. I need to feel sexy and I need a modicum of mental foreplay. The pre-game show was not optional.
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little concerned. I must be getting sick. In a way, I hope I’m getting sick. Because I don’t want to think I’ve become one of those. Not in the mood? Too pooped to pork? That’s just not me.
But goddammit, even though he had to fight an obese Scottish dude and outwit a bald megalomaniacal freak, Austin Powers got his mojo back. And so will I. Yeah, baby, yeah!